This Certainly Isn't Wonderland
by Witch-of-hot-Cocoa
Summary: No rabbits, no holes, no pretty little phials beckoning 'drink me'. Just a few selfishly selfless Divines and an innocent little girl, plucked from her home and thrown into a strange land, forced to become its savior of legend. This isn't Wonderland, little Alice, but it is Skyrim. And you, sweet girl, are the Last Dovahkiin. So do yourself a favor and try to keep your head!


"So we need a Dragonborn, hm?"

"I suppose. It's the only way to keep the story going."

"Well, we certainly don't have any of those on hand around here. How about we pluck one from someplace else? Oh, how about that one place? With all the humans? Earth, I think it was."

"Sounds fine by me. Less work on our part; we don't have to make anybody fall in love and produce a Dragonborn on their own.** "**

"Good. Now, let's see...oh, this one looks good! Adept magical abilities and a completely impressionable heart!"

"Nah. Pick someone a little sturdier."

"Um...OK...oh, how about her? She's got a backbone. Looks like she's a little temperamental but she's just as magically adept as those little people from Tamriel; Bretons, I think they're called now."

"Meh, she's not that pretty. Aren't Bretons supposed to have pretty faces?"

"Yeah, but check out those hips! And _look _at the rack on her."

"Oh, yeah, baby. Forget what her face looks like, pick that one. It's going to be fun, watching her run around Nirn with _those _melons."

"Done _and _done."

"Did you just throw her into the fire?"

"Literally?"

"No, like figuratively. You threw her into the middle of it all! Why not let her start from the beginning?"

"Because then she might grow up with smaller melons. Duh."

"Oh. Good thinking."

* * *

_The tea was hot._

_"It's too hot." She said, pointing to the steaming hot cup of tea before her. The March Hare threw a cookie into the cup. "Drink your tea, dearie!" He crooned. The Mad Hatter tusked him. "Now, now, she's quite capable of finding out what's on all by her little-wittle self." _

_She frowned, but blew on her tea anyways. The china was ratting loudly and obnoxiously, but no one else seemed to notice. She ignored it anyways, bringing the tea to her lips and sipping. Instead of it tasting like Earl Grey, or Darjeeling, it tasted like snow and horses. "What an odd tea." She noted, plucking the cookie out and biting into it. It tasted like ropes.  
_

_"It's perfectly normal tea!" Dormouse snapped. March Hare threw a platter. "How rude!"_

_"Why is my chair shaking like this?" She asked, tea sloshing over the side of the cup and into her lap. Mad Hatter giggled, leaning over the arm of his chair and peering into her cup. "Why indeed? Why are you in a carriage, dear Alice?"_

_"Carriage? I'm not in a carriage." She frowned. "My name isn't Alice." _

_"Isn't it?" The Mad Hatter kissed her. "Time to wake up, dear Alice!"  
_

_"Wakey, wakey!" Dormouse and March Hare sang. Her chair bumped her hard, sending her up into the air. "Wakey, wakey!" _

* * *

She woke with a roaring headache and an unusual sensation in her hands. Her world was sort of slanted; there was a rumbling sound, and she specifically heard the sound of a horse snorting. Her eyes peeled open slowly; they felt like someone had glued them shut and put gum in her lashes. She wobbled in her seat. Actually, her seat was the one wobbling.

"Hey you." A man's voice, gruff, sounded over the noise of carriages and horses. "Finally awake?"

Her eyes finally peeled open, and all she saw was a snowy forest. A moment of raw terror seized her. _'What the hell? Why is it snowing? Why am I outside? Who the fuck are these people?!' _Her thoughts were frantic and panicked. Her eyes widened and her breath shortened, but her lips were sealed tight.

"You were trying to cross the border, right?" The man was blond, wearing strange armor made of furs and blue cloth. His accent was strikingly familiar. "Got caught up in that Imperial ambush, same as us. And that thief over there." He gestured with his head to the man in ragged clothes, sitting nervously with his hands bound before him; _all _of their hands were bound.

"Damn you Stormcloaks." The thief sneered. "Skyrim was fine until you came along! Empire was nice and _lazy_. It they hadn't been looking for _you,_ I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now." He turned to her, his dirty face twisted between a scowl and a wide eyed look of terror. "You there; you and me, we shouldn't be here! It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." The blond man, a Stormcloak (so she assumed) noted dully. The driver, wearing strange red fabric and leather for armor, didn't even glance back at them as he sneered "Shut up back there!"

The thief turned and glanced at the man sitting next to her, a broad shouldered man with dirty blond hair, wearing furs and coats unlike the armor and rags the rest of the cart-goers wore. His hands were bound the same, but his mouth was covered by a dirty white cloth; a gag. "What's wrong with him?" The thief sneered; the gagged man seemed to ignore him.

"Watch your tongue!" The Stormcloak snapped, startling her. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

_'High King?'_ Last time she checked, the only monarchies in the world were in England and a few southern countries in the lower hemispheres; no where near where these accents would be from. _'Scandinavian...Norse?' _She thought. _'How on earth would I have gotten to Norway?'_

"Ulfric?" The thief sounded suddenly less angered, and more terrified. "Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion!"

_'OK, so I'm definitely nowhere near home.' _

"But if they've captured you...oh god. Where are they taking us?!" The thief was definitely terrified at this point; his hands were visibly trembling. The Stormcloak turned and faced the forward; down the strange, cobblestone road, she could see, beyond tall wooden walls, a town. Or a village; the roofs were thatch and straw.

"I don't know where we're going. But Sovngarde awaits."

She did _not _like the defeated tone in his voice. She opened her mouth to speak, but could find no words; silence filled the air, only to be broken by the thief's panicked voice. "No, no. This can't be happening! This isn't happening!" He covered his face with his hands, whole body trembling with fear and dread. The gagged man, Ulfric Stormcloak, looked away from the sight, instead settling his eyes on the approaching village.

"Hey..." The Stormcloak turned back to the thief. "What village are you form, horse-thief?"

"Why do you care?!" The thief snapped, turning to face the other man. The soldier only smiled gently. "A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

The thief met the Stormcloak's sullen look; she found herself thinking of her own home. Of her bed, of her cat, of her mother and her heart-attack inducing pies. Then she thought; _'What was I doing before I fell asleep?'_ She couldn't even recall falling asleep. She remembered waking up to a bright, cheesy sunshine of the day, showering, going out with her friends. She remembered there was something that they were going to do that day, that they had been planning to do for months.

_'Maybe I didn't even wake up. Yeah, that's it.'_ She felt herself calm at the thought. _'I'm still asleep. I'm dreaming.'_

"General Tullius sir!" Someone called, drawing her from her thoughts. Ahead, a man dressed in attire similar to the cart driver's (and the man following on horseback) paced in a cobblestone and thatch archway of sorts. "The headsman is waiting!" He announced, sending chills down her spine. _'A dream. A dream.' _She chanted.

"Good." An oddly elderly voice responded; she could only assume it was the man far ahead of them, his horse peeling off to the side as the carts carried on into the village. "Let's get this over with!"

The thief suddenly began spouting names, before saying "Divines, please help me!"

_'Divines...gods?' _

The Stormcloak sneered. "Look at him. General Tulius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this." He ground out. She followed his gaze to where the General, still on his horse, sat across from a strange woman in black robes, also on horseback. Her hair and skin were of a golden hue, and her ears were pointed.

_'Of course, I would dream about elves. And of course, the elves I dream about are apparently bastards.'_

"This is Helgen." The Stormcloak noted, his voice full of remorse. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here...wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with Juniper berries mixed in."

"A drink sounds about good right now..." She muttered; only Ulfric seemed to hear her. He glanced over with those intense eyes of his.

"Funny." The Stormcloak continued. "When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe..."

Something in her chest sunk at his words. _'Remember; I'm only dreaming.'_ She reminded herself, gazing ahead. A young boy's voice drifted over the rumble of the carts. "...where are they going?" He asked. She turned and saw the boy, sitting cross legged on a wooden porch. A man in skins and metal plating turned to him with sad eyes. "You need to go inside, little cub." He said gently, but firmly.

"Why? I want to watch the soldiers."

"Inside the house. _Now."_ The father said firmly. She heard the boy sigh, before watching him get up and retreat into the house. She felt a pang of familiarity at the sight. It reminded her of her own younger brother...

"Why are we stopping?" The thief asked, voice trembling. A woman's harsh voice was barking orders as the Stormcloak looked solemnly at the thief. "Why do you think? End of the line."

The thief looked mortified; he turned and stared at the slouching Jarl with wide eyes. The Stormcloak clenched his fists. "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us." This time, he was looking at her. His eyes...the defeat, the courage that glistened in them made her shiver to the bone. _'A dream.'_ She chanted, over and over again. _'A dream!'_

"No! Wait!" The thief cried, as the four of them rose to their feet. "We're not rebels!" He sounded near tears. The Stormcloak behind her sounded disproving when he spoke. "Face your death with some courage, thief."

"You've got to tell them; we weren't with you! This is a mistake!" The thief begged; he pleaded to the Jarl, who kept his back turned to them all. The woman in front of the gathered group of prisoners scowled angrily in her strange steel armor. "Step forward when your name is called. One at a time!"

The Stormcloak beside her sighed. "The Empire loves their damn lists..." He said bitterly. Something in her stomach dropped when the man next to the armored woman scribbled something on the clipboard with his quill. "Ulfric Stormcloak; Jarl of Windhelm."

As Ulfric stepped away, the soldier beside her muttered, "It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric."

"Ralof of Riverwood."

When the soldier walked towards the now very visible and very intimidating executioner's block, a tiny voice in the back of her mind started to whisper. _"This isn't a dream, Alice." _It told her. _"But this isn't Wonderland either."_

She swallowed thickly. "Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No!" The thief lurched forward, practically screaming. "I'm not a rebel! You _can't _do this!" He cried, before sprinting past the soldiers in red and running for his life. The woman cried "Halt!" before ordering for archers. When the _thwak _of the arrows piercing Lokir's flesh reached her ears, her knees began to wobble. This couldn't be happening. Not to her. Not possibly her.

"Wait." The man with the list frowned. "You there. Step forward."

She quickly glanced around her; everyone else was waiting for their deaths by the block. She could only assume they were talking to her; she stepped forward, each step feeling heavier than the last. "Who...are you?"

Her head swam as she racked her brain for her name. _'Oh god, what's my name, what's my name?'_ Her lips felt dry and cracked. "Meara." She said softly, finding her name (and her voice) at last. The man wrote it down. "You from Daggerfall, Breton? Fleeing from some court intrigue?" He inquired. Meara frowned; what in the _hell _was a Breton?

"What should we do, Captain? She's not on the list." He sounded generally concerned. There was a flash of hope in her, that she would be released. "Forget the list. She goes to the block." The armored woman said. Meara suddenly found that she very much hated this woman. The man sighed. "By your orders, Captain." He turned to her. "I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to High Rock."

She almost found herself biting out curses; Meara bit her tongue, following the woman to the rest of the soldiers and prisoners, her eyes burning. The older man, General Tullius, was speaking the Ulfric, but Meara could only hear bits of his words; something about a voice and a throne. Ulfric merely grunted in response; that seemed to make Tullius rather angry. "You started this war! Plunged Skyrim into chaos; and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."

In the distance, something rumbled akin to a roar. The hair on the back of Meara's neck rose; something tightened in her throat. "What was that?" One of the guards asked, voice slightly wavering. Tullius threw a heated glare to the sky. "It's nothing. Carry on."

The captain seemed all to eager to do just that. She turned to a woman, dressed in brown robes, by the very intimidating looking executioner. "Give them their last rites."

_"Do you hear that, little Alice?" _The voice cackled, over the woman's droning voice. _"Off with your head." _

"For the love of Talos, shut up, and let's get this over with!" A man, in similar attire to Ralof, stormed to the block and stood firmly before his death. The priestess narrowed her eyes, dropping her arms. "Very well." She clipped. The captain pushed the Stormcloak to his knees. As he laid his neck out for the executioner, he smiled. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

No response came, save for the swinging of the axe. Meara felt bile rise in her throat; she couldn't even turn away as his head rolled to the ground, and the captain nudged his body aside. Blood soaked the cobblestones. There was a slight stirring of voices from the prisoners and the townspeople alike, but the ringing in her ears became too loud.

"Next, the Breton!" The captian ordered, pointing at her. Meara's heart stopped beating; all she could hear was the voice in her head, screaming _"Off with your head! Off with your head!" _and the sound of the roar, echoing once more through the sky. The guards looked about nervously. "Did you hear that? There it is again!"

"I said..." The captain ground out. "Next. Prisoner!"

"To the block, girl." The man said with a sigh. "Nice and easy."

Each step felt like the weight of the world was on her shoulders. This was no dream, she realized, as the captain shoved her to her knees and pushed her over the block. She could only stare at the executioner, who regarded who momentarily before raising her axe. _'This is it. I'm going to die. I'm going to die before I know where I am.'_

Something flew over the mountains behind the executioner and his heavy axe. A cacophony of panicked voices filled the air as the thing landed roughly on the tower before her; before the axe could even be raised, the executioner was knocked over, and Meara was saved. For the most part. There was still a massive, winged and scaled beast staring down at her with eyes like black holes.

"Dragon!" Someone screamed. The beast examined the village shortly, before opening his terrible, scaly maw and a sound akin to thunder came pouring out. Everyone standing was knocked off their feet. Meara, braced by the executioner's block, stared with wide eyes. Then the clouds churned and there was lightning flashing over head; flames poured from the creatures mouth. Meara was knocked to the ground. Thunder boomed in her ears. She vaguely heard a terrible voice, hissing out the strangest words. "_**Ro...da!**_" And the thunder followed.

"Hey, Breton! Get up! The gods won't give us another chance like this!" Someone grabbed her arm; that was Ralof, the Stormcloak soldier. He heaved her up and ran, beckoning her to follow. Stones and bodies and flames exploded around her; blind to all but Ralof's back, Meara ran. She followed him into a tower, where the door was forcefully shut behind her.

Her knees almost gave out. "Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing?! Could the legends be true?"

Ulfric, free of his gag and his binds (oddly, she was the only one still bound) met Ralof's eye with a grave look. "Legends don't burn down villages." He said, his voice deep and serious. Meara shivered again, eyes darting from his imposing form to the heavily injured Stormcloaks on the ground beside her. When what felt like the ground outside shattered, Ulfric grunted. "We need to move; now!"

"Up through the tower; let's go!" Ralof pointed, and Meara ran. There was already someone up there, but as soon as Meara almost reached him, the wall exploded, and the dragon's head was all she could see. She caught a glimpse of his red eyes, and heard a terrible voice, before Ralof ripped her away from the spout of fire. _"**Yol...toor shul**!"_

Just as soon as it had appeared in the tower, the dragon was off, destroying other parts of the village. Ralof pushed her forward again. "You'll have to jump!" He ordered. Meara eyed the broken and burning building he pointed to beneath. _"You have to jump, Alice. Like jumping off a bridge." _

She took a deep breath, steeling herself, before leaping from the tower and landing in a heap in the shattered house. As soon as her ratty shoes hit the floorboards, something in her died with the pain she felt.

Her hope.

* * *

You guys thought I died! I did, really. I mean, _damn _ it is hard to find a job and go to college when you don't have experience in either. And I'm vying for a Grand office in Rainbow, so that means lots of memorizing...so update will be basically non existent, or slow (hopefully the later).

To see which stories I'll be more attentive to, go and check the list I've set up on my profile. Sorry I'm so stupid and slow. Hopefully this one won't sit too long, because I actually have a lot in store here!

Reviews are loves and hugs,

~Lonely


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